Swing Life Away
by Duplicity-of-Ler
Summary: A HiruMamo Project. 21 songs as Prompts. One story of Love, Life and American Football.
1. Act 1: One and The One

**Act 1: One and The One**

**1. Sarah Bareilles – Love Song**

(Make me think that I need this too…)

If you asked around Deimon High who was a most wanted girl, the majority of the male student won't point at the refined, long-legged model-like girls, but at that particular one, lean and curvy at the same time, with that sincere polite smile almost glued to her face and softness to all her features, not to mention the tastiest bentoes in the whole school. A girl that could cook, sew and had excellent grades (except for art, but who counts that). You wouldn't want to show that girl to your parents, because they would want to organize a marriage right away.

There was basically nothing Mamori Anezaki couldn't do.

Except for accepting the confessions of boys age 15 to 18. And there were plenty.

They _could_ have called her an Ice Queen, Thick-Skinned and all those mean things teenage boys say about girls who reject them, but they couldn't. Most of them where brought up better than that, but just the way she made a simple "I'm sorry, but I don't feel the same way about you. Maybe we could stay friends?" sound… Let's say she made all her rejection sound so comfortingly right, that just after few moments the boy would think that she is just too good for him, in a very good sense of that phrase. She would probably make an excellent wife for a prime-minister or a high government official, or a successful businessman….

Her best friend, basically a younger brother, a scrawny kid of no particular talent, who entered the school one year later, just proved the fact the Mamori was the representation of proper, righteous and upright Japanese woman, respectful to her elders, supportive to her juniors and generally _perfect_.

So when the rumor came around that gentle Mamori Anezaki, never too harsh in words or actions, became the manager of Hiruma Yoichi's American Football club – key word being Hiruma Yoichi, not American Football – and on free will at that, there was an expected denial and claims that there had to be a good reason.

"Maybe she can change Him that way," they said.

"Maybe He likes her – girls don't play American Football, do they?" they asked.

"He doesn't like anyone. He doesn't know how," they laughed tensely.

No one dared to ask her out ever since.

**2. Vertical Horison – Everything you want **

(I say all the right things at exactly the right time, but I mean nothing to you…)

He heard about them.

He read about them.

He saw movies about them on TV.

Until her, he never met them.

On his first year of the high school, Hiruma Yoichi met that mythical creature everyone called a Dream Girl.

She annoyed him to the state of scrawling, and shouting and kicking walls.

Fucking Old Man just couldn't stop taking a piss.

"Oh, look. That girl of yours is coming here to tell you what a bad person you are. Should I give you two some privacy?"

And Hiruma would wave his guns around, shout, insult the girl in all the ways possible and walk away carelessly, just to trash something around the nearest corner.

Sometimes, he wondered – and so did the sagacious Musashi – if he did all this crap on purpose. And he couldn't help but listen to what everybody else said about her.

"She is pretty," but he grimaced dismissively because it was a rubbish reason. (She was fucking beautiful, but that really was a rubbish reason.)

"She is smart," and he accepted it with a hint of hesitation. (She was way smarter than everybody noticed.)

"She is perfect," all he could do was laugh because nobody was perfect. (But she could be close enough.)

"You are sad," and he prominently kicked Fucking Geezer as hard as he could.

"Pathetic" was a much better description. That must be what having all these hormones feels like.

**3. Sarah McLachan – Building a Mystery**

(A beautiful fucked-up man, you're setting up your razor wire shrine…)

Hiruma Yoichi was a disturbing, aggressive, manipulating, sadistic, black-hearted sociopath.

Mamori couldn't understand what exactly was Sena's goal in staying in the club, but if he did – so did she. Sena was just too helpless to stand for himself against _him_.

Hiruma Yoichi was also one of the loneliest people Mamori ever met.

Of course, there was an obvious explanation: he alienated himself, creating a wall between his person and the rest of the world.

He didn't care for people. They were just toys in his grand schemes of social distortion.

But he loved American football.

And that fact only made her wonder: if there was a thing that this obvious delinquent was so fascinated with, there had to be more to him. Real delinquents focus only on being delinquents.

Hiruma Yoichi worked towards his goal in mysterious and, she had to admit, rather fascinating ways. Ways that were against her ideas of right and wrong, but worth of observation never the less.

He was also rather handsome, but that was a completely different matter.

**4. Placebo – Every me, every you**

(Another love I would abuse, no circumstances would excuse…)

He Was Ecstatic.

There were very few times when Hiruma thought about divine providence, but that was most definitely one of them.

Fucking Shrimp – yes, he already invented a nickname for him – was that one thing he was looking for: small, inconspicuous in everyday surroundings and very, very fast. And a complete rag, so Hiruma didn't even need to strain to kick him around.

The more he hung around – the better things went.

Fucking Ha-ha Brothers, Fucking Monkey, Boldy, Fatty, all those things he was working for, year after year, they all started to come together in that knot of luck he waited for, no matter what he said about strategies and schemes.

But she, she was more that he signed up for.

Suddenly, she was right here, at the same table, arguing with him about strategies (she learned a full fucking book of rules by fucking heart in one fucking evening!), cleaning his clubhouse and repairing his uniforms, feeding his dog and motivating his team by her cheer fucking presence.

For Hiruma, she wasn't motivating. She was that shot of adrenaline right into the heart, no needle needed, and he had to keep his hands busy or tightly in fists so that his fingers won't twitch in excited bliss, or worse, long to touch that soft-looking hair, or the smoothness of her skin, or any other part of her anatomy, just to satisfy his curiosity, whether she was real or just some sort of a unreasonable hallucination of his.

The only thing he allowed himself to do is to scrawl and snarl in her face, and observe from very close distance how her eyes would round in astonished shock, and she would open that pretty mouth of hers to say his name again and again, loud and clear.

Oh, but how he loved to abuse his authority over her as the team manager…

**5. Cranberries – Animal Instinct**

(And the thing that gets to me is you never really see…)

Sometimes she imagined what she would do if she knew a martial art, or at least could hurt people. Well, she wouldn't normally attack people. It must be only Hiruma who could be as provocative as to make her want to give him a slap. Even better a scratch. Or to punch him. Or to kick him, there must be something attractive in it if he does it all the time.

Biting also sounded like a pretty good idea. She could be able to manage it.

His teeth looked really sharp though. And he would definitely bite back. He always fought back.

She wondered if he would kiss back… and really hoped she wouldn't think of him in that way.

**6. Incubus – Anna Molly**

(Please do persist, girl, it's time we made a mess…)

Obsessing was bad.

No, let's put it the other way.

Obsessing over something other than football was bad. Not when thing were going so well. Not when he was so close, working twice as hard, training for three for his dream, for their dream of Christmas bowl.

But maybe she was the reason he was putting that much work on his shoulders, just not to think of her. He would thank her later for that.

He understood he was obsessing over her the first night he had a dream about her.

It was rather innocent. She was telling him something and laughing, but he couldn't quite catch the meaning of her word, because he was too busy looking at her face, the way her lips formed the words before she even said them, and he though that there was no particular reason to pronounce them because he would understand them anyway, by the way her eyes sparkled, or nose wrinkled or how she was tucking strands of her hair behind her ear, very elegant and feminine. Then those fingers were forming sighs for him, only for him (he got pleasant chills just from the fact that there was a different kind of communication between them).

To think of it, this particular dream wasn't all that innocent after all. It was just satisfying him in an esthetical sense. And giving him an esthetical hard-on when he woke up.


	2. Interlude 1

**Interlude #1: **

**Michael Nyman – Heart Asks Pleasure First**

(instrumental)

He was tired. She was tired as well.

The tournament was taking the best of them, leaving out the undead shell of what supposed to be the best student of Deimon high, now just a tired captain and a team manager after a tiring training session.

The rest of the team crawled away to their homes, wishing they were dead or asleep, while Hiruma changed in the locker room and got back to the roulette table, where Mamori was waiting for him, her head lying on her folded arms, a stack of formation sheets in front of her.

"Don't fall asleep, fucking manager," he nudged her hunched form on the shoulder. "We still got to look through all that shit, and hell if I understand your fucking messy handwriting."

"My handwriting is not messy," she lifted her head of the table and rubbed her eyes. "Hiruma-kun, aren't you tired?"

"Keke, fucking manager, it takes a lot more than this to tire me up," he scrawled at her, ignoring his arching muscles and the strain in his back.

"Hm," a soft small smile appeared on her lips as she looked at him. "I envy you then."

She picked one the first page from the stack.

"Here is the formation I got from…"

They felt into their normal state from that point. She was talking and he was looking, his eyes taking out the minimal chances to break the formation, fingers pointing out where exactly, as she scribbled and scribbled on the sides of the paper, one after another. As the stack grew shorter, her head bend lower and lower to his shoulder, basically resting on it at the end. Not that he minded. He was in a complete comfort zone.

He turned his head unconsciously and accidentally bumped his head against hers.

"Hiruma-kun, I'm so sorry," she immediately moved away and he groaned slightly.

"Go home, fucking woman," he mumbled with annoyance, rubbing him eyes with his hand. "You are pretty useless if you fall asleep all the time."

"Hiruma, I can't do that," she responded immediately, all that righteousness she was keeping to herself recently spilling out. "If I go, you will sit here till the late evening, or probably even won't go home."

"Doesn't matter. I don't need a brain-dead manager," he grabbed the edge of the table tightly, trying to remember where the hell he put his laptop.

"I'm not going anywhere," she folded her arms on her chest.

"Just shut up and go home," that came out more as a growl, but didn't help at all.

"No," she stated stubbornly, standing up and pointing her finger into his chest. "I am not leaving you here alone and that's the end of this discussion!"

He looked down at the commanding finger, his gaze traveling up her arm to the curve of her shoulder and neck, up to her face, determination slowly pilling off as she uncertainly relaxed her arm, the level of politeness – and personal space - breach sinking in.

She turned her head slightly, when his voice made her head to snap back to look at him.

"You know what, fucking manager," his voice was calm and hands suddenly still on the tabletop. "Screw this."

He let go of the table, one hand wrapping around her wrist, the other going around her waist, pulling her down on his lap. By the time she was sitting, he already let go of her wrist, his fingers trailing up her jaw line, behind her ear and into the mess of - fucking soft indeed - chestnut hair, bringing their lips together in a kiss, hesitant but impatient at the same time.

The more he held her, the more he wanted to squeeze tighter, to figure her out like the parameters of a simple equation, the unknowns, the flexibilities and the restrictions, all the limitless possibilities.

Her elegant fingers grabbed the front of his shirt, hands stiffening and relaxing to the movement of his lips, deviating between not letting him go and pushing him away in the usual uncertain way their relationship worked – relationship in it's broadest of meanings.

He wasn't quite thinking about breathing, it seamed unnecessary at this point, so he grabbed short gasps in-between this lip to lip conversation they were having, noting that the longer their kiss lasted, the less of her hesitation was evident. Her hands let go of his shirt and roamed a bit, over his shoulders and onto his neck, settling at the base of his skull, fingers sending a gentle massaging sensation down his spine – if he had time to purr, he would have, but he was busy with other things at the moment.

Her lips were slowing down, and he playfully bit down on her lower lip.

_Don't think we are fucking done here._

There was a slight pause, and she bit him back, bit hard, causing a metallic taste to tingle on his tongue.

_We are done - don't think you can force me._

His eyes snapped opened, as she was pushing herself away from him, her lips now sporting a healthy dark red color, as her blush was glowing in the lamplight.

Then there was a slap, that made his head turn to they side.

"The fuck is that for?" he glared at her, still glowing red and still sited on his lap.

"You could have asked first," she replied, her palms rubbing against each other.

"You would have said yes and that would have been a fucking waste of time," he snapped, his cheek burning only adding to general annoyance.

"And if I said no?" she looked at him, face as serious as ever.

He looked back and sighed, trying to figure out if his lip was still bleeding.

"Fine, next time I'll fucking ask."

To his surprise, she turned away, lips brought together for a pouting expression.

"Next time is next time."

…And once again he tried to understand how she was able to blow his mind away with just one phrase.

"Damn it, woman, it's just a kiss! How the fuck am I supposed to know about all this pretentious etiquette crap? Nobody gives a shit about it! But look at that, you have to fucking slap me across my face. It fucking hurts, by the way…"

As he was telling her his opinion, one hand waving around with his speech as the other rested on the small of her back, she was looking at him with amusement, as if the fact of him telling her his mind was funny. He pretended not to pay attention to it till the moment when tried to hide a giggle.

"What's so fucking funny?"

She didn't pay attention to his glare and placed her cold hand on his cheek.

"You are complaining," she told him with a smile and moved closer to his chest. "Now, can I kiss you?"

He smirked.

"Yes fucking please."


	3. Act 2: Like with the best timing

**Act 2: "Like" with the best timing**

**7. Tori Amos – Smells like teen spirit (Nirvana cover)**

(Here we are now. Entertain us.)

He is loud. He is obnoxious. He is touchy and very demanding. He has ownership issues. He has family issues. Obvious issues with authority.

It's not fun to just win a game. Just winning doesn't prove anything. Winning and making your opponent look like a complete idiot, degrading him not only in the eyes of the public and judges, but even in the eyes of his own team – that's more like it.

He has no mercy towards people surrounding him. Even less mercy towards people supporting him – she has a problem understanding that trait in his behavior.

There used to be three of them: Hiruma, Kurita and Musashi. Now there are again all three of them, but the bond that he had with Gen-san is now hanging on the leftovers of the string and she fears, that even if it will mend, it won't be the same.

He is a mad genius. He thinks out side the box. In his mind there is no box.

He always steps forward, no matter how far back he was pushed.

He seems all here, exposed and opened. She thinks she understands him.

She also knows she doesn't have a clue.

**8. Money Mark – Hand In Your Head**

(I've got my hand in your hand and I'm pulling out all of your mind.)

Comparing to the beginning of the year, there is now a folder in his laptop dedicated just to her.

That's something already.

He knows all of it: all of her favorites, the important dates in her calendar, where she went to school before Deimon; he has profiles on all her friends, an extended research on her parents, even the plan of her house.

He knows all the things that make her.

He doesn't understand a thing.

And he definitely won't ask her.

(Only after seeing her in that jacket her mother got her last Christmas, the color matching her hair in a very warm combination, making her eyes shine out with the blueness of a spring sky, he got why she liked terracotta brown.)

**9. Joan Osborne – One of Us **

(What would you ask is you had just one question?)

Hiruma never liked when she took care of him. Openly took care of him, like she did to all the other members of the team.

He would accept her bentoes ("it's one of the few fucking edible things around here"), no comment on her doing all the cleaning ("Don't Touch My Laptop. Rest is all yours.") or washing ("Somebody has to do it.") and even assign the "Cerberus Daycare" to her ("The damn dog seems to like you… Wash him, he stinks.").

She would make him coffee after practices, and re-watch the tapes and make the analysis so that he would tear it to shreds. She would tape him up for the game and work-work-work, signs from the bench, notes from the game.

And he would get moodier, and more determined, ever since that game with Nagas, and she knows the reason, but she won't say. Because he would expect her to understand.

"This whole thing, it has the fucking best of timing," he told her that time, when her hands laced into his hair and he tenderly kissed that spot under her jaw.

Now, she looks at him, sleeping quietly on the sofa in the clubhouse, and thinks that well, sometimes "like" works in a relationship. You see, it's not really love: he will never say he loves her, that's for sure, and she, well, she is one of that type of women who are not expected to love but to be well arranged in life. On the other hand, unlike him, she never really hand a goal in life.

As she covers him with one of the duvets, he mumble something and she thinks that there had to be some really good reason for him trying so hard and taking this game to a level of a dream, a purpose.

There are so many why's, she doesn't really know were to start.

They all can wait for later.

Now, he pries one eye open and drags her on the narrow sofa, nuzzling sleepily into her neck, and she pats him on the head, shuffling his already messy hair, and drags the cover over both of them.

And Musashi-san, who peeks into the clubroom, shakes his head wearily, smiles at them and mouths "idiots", before silently closing the door.

**10. Rise Against – Swing life away**

(Are we getting closer, or are we just getting more lost?)

He knew she knew he had trust issues.

If he could chose any other time for them – just them, as a couple (he really hated the sound of the word), as Yoichi and Mamori, and not a Captain and a Manager – he would have chosen any other time, the earlier the better. The first year of the high school, or maybe even the middle school, even though they haven't met at that point – yes, middle school would be the best. She could have been as useful as ever, she was always useful, and maybe, just maybe, things would have gone differently.

But there was always only now and tomorrow.

And in now and tomorrow, he still had his obligations, and she, she had hers.

But if they win Christmas Bowl – he wanted that "if" more than anything, maybe even her – they would be "them".

And maybe, he will even ask her on a date.

And have sex, for fuck's sake.

**11. Sia – Breath Me**

(Yeah, I think that I may break; Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.)

As the Christmas bowl was right behind the corner, and it was cold outside, she decided that staying inside would be better for her, if she planned to make some really constructive preparations for the game with Alexanders.

As she set in a quiet club house, Teikoku playbook in front of her, she shuffled through the pages, one play after another, and thought with sudden arching in her chest that he tried his best.

He really did. Months of training, months of work, and sleeping on the couch, and letting her sit by, listening, learning and just being around, holding his hand.

She smiled warmly as she remembered how during one of the training sessions, they got into one of their usual disputes in sign language, and he got so carried off that he unconsciously called her 'sweetheart'.

And then there was this game with Dinosaurs.

He hands trembled as she crumpled the nearest piece of paper, one of the plays she was working on, and threw it in the far corner of the club house.

Somehow, it seemed her fault. That she didn't invent a play good enough to protect him. He protected her from Gaou once, why couldn't she?..

Mamori brought the back of her palm up to wipe the warm strands of tears running down her cheeks.

"You know, crying over nothing is fucking stupid."

She turned around harshly and looked at his lanky form sitting on the sofa, right hand still bandaged. He dumped the stack of plays he discussed with Kid-san on the floor.

"So," Hiruma looked back. "What the hell are all these fucking waterworks about?"

He patted the seat near him with his healthy hand.

It too a lot of her will just not to run to him.

**12. Placebo – Running up that hill**

(You don't wanna hurt me, but see how deep the bullet lies… Come on, angel, come on, come on, darling, let's exchange the experience.)

Sometimes, especially now, he doesn't want to admit the extend to which she is hurting him. Actually, he doesn't want to admit she is hurting him at all.

But deep down, he is afraid that she is right.

Now, when she is sobbing into his shirt, apparently about his broken arm, that stupid woman, he wonders how come she became more realistic, why he turned into such a dreamer.

Must be all that "like".

"Fucking Monkey is throwing a fit," he said as a matter of fact and she lifted her face up in worry.

"Is he alright?"

He cringes a bit, because his arm suddenly starts aching.

"He is fine. He is being an idiot and that's normal for him. Fucking Shrimp went to talk to him. Messing up all the training…"

She sighs and hugs him tighter.

"Everything will be fine," she says, but he doesn't really believe her. By the look on her face, she doesn't believe herself either.

He says nothing.

They sit like that minutes in a row, he knows by the unstoppable ticking of the clock, all these minutes he should spend in the damn capsule, but this is what he needs now to make himself feel better.

He was getting a lot angrier recently. Angry at other teams, fucking Marco, his own team, Musashi, her, himself… Angry at his fucking arm that it heals too slow.

And angrier than he should be for enjoying the feeling of her lips on his neck.

There was one kiss, then the second one, the third time he was already kissing her, and she was sitting on his lap, hands in his hair and under the collar of his shirt, and slowly undoing buttons with her tender fingers…

Fucking buttons. He was waiting for fucking buttons for months now. And now he is really going to hate himself.

"No," he says – more like breathes out - unconvincingly, but for her it's sufficient.

"No?" she is surprised and she should be, because it was her idea to wait, and he agreed because that's what suave people fucking do, even though really isn't one of them.

"No," and he moves her back on the couch, his broken arm still aching like a bitch, stands up and leaves the clubhouse.

As the cold wind washes over his bare chest, he flips the phone open and calls the first person he wants to torture right now. And he deserves it.

"Are you still wanking about how much of a fucking looser you are? No? Busy, huh? Kekeke, well now you are not. You have no fucking idea how much this broken arm costs me..."

Unlike the rest of them, Marco is the only one who can understand the 'women' talk.


	4. Interlude 2

**Interlude #2: **

**Manic Street Preachers – Your love alone is not enough **

(But your love alone won't save the world.)

One game – and it was all over. It was a good over. Not a Game over.

And he should be happy.

He even thinks _Holy Fuck, I Did It_ but the smile, the one where he grins maniacally, or just _smiles_, for real, it's just not there.

Congratulate the man on the field, he got his dream. He doesn't have an idea what to do with his life.

He looks around, there are so many faces, Fucking Kid is grinning at him, same for Tamaki, and the damn commentator just keeps on talking… Somewhere on the top gallery there is a person he really doesn't want to talk to, and that person knows it, things will stay as they are.

He is somewhat proud that he is proud of him.

And then, there is the damn pixie running across the field to join in on a ruckus that his team has become.

And Fucking Geezer nudges him slightly on the side, a small bow towards the benches and he turns to look.

Fucking Manager is crying again.

He cocks his eyebrow and makes a sign with hand.

_Come here_.

She shakes her head, and goes on crying, a smile showing through the wet lines on her cheeks she smears so vigorously.

He shoves his helmet into Musashi's hands and walks to the edge of the field.

"Fucking waterworks again?" He looks her down, and thinks his next move. "What is it this time?"

There is a sound, something between a sigh and a hiccup, and she looks up, her eyes slightly red.

"You won." And a smile.

"And you are crying. Fucking hell, sometimes there is no way to fucking understand you."

He looks around, Fucking Shrimp seems to be taken care of, Monkey is talking to that Taka guy, and why the hell not?

"Stand still," he says and before she can argue, he hooks his arm under her knees and she is sitting on his shoulder.

"Yoichi! Hiruma! Put me down, put me down now!" She grabs onto his head like he is going to throw her down, while he carries her to the middle of the field, whole stadium watching with interest.

"Stop fidgeting, you are heavy enough without it. Being pigging yourself again?" Now he is just teasing, but she is bright red and gives him a clip on the back on the head.

This is definitely something he can entertain himself with for the next couple of decades.


	5. Act 3: Brandold entertainment

**Act 3: Brand-old entertainment**

**13. This Is The Kit – Two Wooden Spoons**

(…carved two spoons out of wood, from the same tree, from the same bowl, the same scoop…)

"Mmm."

"Yeah… Mmm."

There was a playful lick on the side of her neck.

They haven't really got pass the whole "we won Christmas Bowl" conversation. The moment the cup was handed over and everybody held it in their hands, he left the group to change, excusing himself from the team celebration – leaving Musashi as a substitute – and dragged her away, back to Deimon, to the clubhouse, locking the door the moment they got in.

"Comfortable?"

"Mmm."

She fidgeted a bit, fitting her back better against his chest.

These past two days, she didn't really remember the moment when his skin wasn't touching hers. It was like one long-long glomp, and fumbling and covers falling from the familiar sofa – narrow enough for two people as they found out – and - god, she is going to remember that one for a lo-o-ong time – a year-worth stash of condoms. And a lot of sometimes wild, sometimes intimate, sometimes kinky, and most of the times very inappropriate sex.

"Ouch, Yoichi, don't bite."

"It's my woman and I'll bite if I want to."

Even though his bite stings, she laughs so hard her eyes water.

On her phone, there is a list of missed calls from everyone, but the only one she called back was her mother. It was an awkward moment she would want to forget, especially after Hiruma had a _talk_ with her mother, and she invited him for tea. This couldn't be good.

"Hungry?"

"A bit."

He waves his hand and she passes him his phone.

"Chinese?"

"Chinese."

Yes, this is definitely worth the wait.

**14. Incubus – Dig **

(We all have someone that digs at us; at least we dig each other.)

When they finally opened the door, the first one to get in was the Fucking Old Man, carrying the Cup.

He stepped into the clubhouse, and looked cautiously around like something was going to jump him out of nowhere. Or he was looking for the sighs of their activity and ended up quite pleased he didn't find any.

"Here," he put the Cup on the roulette table and sat in one of the chairs.

She turned around from her cooking table, where she was already making him coffee, and looked at it with fascination.

"Shiny," she admired it for a bit before returning to her boiling water.

Hiruma continued to type away on his laptop he found in the locker room, eyes fixed to the screen.

"So," Musashi's voice had a very non-challant tone. "The team is traumatized."

Yoichi inquisitively lifted his eyes from the screen.

"Except Kurita," Old Man quickly added. "He is actually quite happy for you two."

There was another pause as Hiruma returned to his typing.

Mamori was silently pouring water into the mugs.

"Woman," Hiruma turned his head to look behind his back. "I guess I have to ask you out on a fucking date now."

Mamori looked back perplexedly. "Why?"

Hiruma cocked one of his brows.

"Because that's what couples usually fucking do. To find out things about each other and all that entertainment shit."

She walked back to the roulette table placing mugs in front of him and Musashi.

"Why would we need that? If we want to know something about each other, we can always ask. And the entertainment… Some guys prefer to bring their girls to the games. I saw so many of them - it would be enough for a dozen of dates," she concluded, arms folded on her chest.

Hiruma just stared.

Gen looked from one to another.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, sipping his coffee. "You should marry her."

**15. Cowboy Junkies – Common Disaster**

(Don't worry too much about happily-ever-after… Won't you share a common disaster?)

_This didn't go well._

"That went well," Hiruma popped his gum, and continued to walk down the street.

"Hmm. It went well," she responded, walking by his side.

There was pause when he turned his head to look at her.

"It didn't go well," he stated, pulling the gum pack from his pocket and popping another piece into his mouth, his mouth cringing a bit as he started to chew.

_It is surprising_, she thought suddenly, _how easy it is to read this man's body language_.

Good thing he can read hers just as well.

She put her palm in his. Almost immediately his fingers wrapped around hers.

"You are just... something other than they expected."

His grip tightened.

"They'll just have to get used to the fucking idea then."

"You really don't know how to play nice with people, do you?" She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and breathed in slowly before a first soft chuckle left her lips, followed by a series, one louder than another, until she was laughing and he was giving her a really weird look. She looked back, small tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

"You know, they invited you for New Year, so it didn't go well. It went unbelievably well."

He looked away, mumbling.

"I don't do family holidays."

Now it was her turn to squeeze his hand.

"Play nice. You'll get used to the idea."

**16. Aqualung – Pressure Suit**

(Don't want to be forgiven but drag you down from where you are.)

In the oldest written epic story of the world there is one phrase that he can't help but remember right now.

_I found a half of myself which I never thought was missing._

It's stupid, because they are so different, but this is just one of all these fucking cliché phrases he can use to describe one simple truth. Really, why do people invent so many new ways, write fucking songs, poems, and draw damn pictures if you say it in just three words?

He knows.

That's because even though they have fucking good sex, and she fits into his apartment like a little jigsaw piece that suddenly makes all these bundles of lines and color in a puzzle look like something, and she is supportive and intelligent and everything, he just Can Not Tell Her he loves her.

Fucking Geezer tells him that he has severe abandonment issues. And he tells Musashi to get a fucking life.

And even now, when she is sleeping in his bed, her head resting calmly on his chest, it seems that if he will tell her that he loves her, the whole situation will suddenly become less real, because she probably wouldn't want to move from their rather comfortable going-out-and-having-mind-blowing-sex "like" to so-what-next-I-don't-know "love". Because he doesn't. He just wants to keep her to himself. And to keep her, as well as to clear his own conscience, he says all these things, in the most obscure and random ways.

"You are better than a Cup."

And she presses closer and murmurs.

"Sure, Yoichi. Sleep now."

But the main condition is that she is supposed be asleep when he tells her all these things.

**17. Roxette – Milk and Toast and Honey**

(Oh, you never know what you find, but didn't he blow my mind this time?)

To wake up without having to untangle her legs from his was a relieving experience.

To wake up and not feel his lips on her skin was disturbingly unnatural.

And it was only her third day in his apartment.

There was a soft creek of the door and a heavy weight landed on the other side of the mattress.

She turned around in bed to look at the messily sleepy man, but instead, there were two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of toasts on the bedside table and seriously composed Hiruma, with wet hair combed back to reveal a rather wide forehead, a pair of reading glasses and a newspaper, folded neatly at the sports section.

"Good Morning," she smiled drowsily, trying to wrap into the warmth of the duvet.

"Finally awake?" His eyes shot to her face, and one of the corners of his mouth went up make a crooked resemblance to a smile. "We forgot to get tea yesterday."

She yawned and sat up, as he passed her one of the mugs, a bright pink one.

He returned to his paper as she started to sip her coffee, leaning on his shoulder. A lonely drop of water formed on the edge of one of his locks and she lifted her hand to catch it on the tip of her finger.

"What are you going?" he asked, his shoulders getting tense.

The whole scene seemed strange, but she was prepared for something like that.

She playfully smudged the drop on his cheek.

"You are trying too hard."

He cocked his eyebrow as she got out of the bed, still holding her mug, and walked to the bathroom door.

"Really," she put her hand on the knob and turned to look back. "I love you too anyway."

**18. Ben Godwin – Castaway**

(I take you down to the sea, you and me, we are finding out just who we were born to be.)

"Let's go to Vegas this summer," he said, lips tickling the side of her ear as his hand drew patterns on her wet tight.

"We've been to Vegas last summer," she answered, trying to balance her hand on his sharp knee, sticking over the surface of the bathwater.

"No, properly," he kissed her neck. "Like beach, casinos, getting drunk and the Church of Elvis. I'll even buy you a pretentiously white cocktail dress."

She threw her head back and looked at the ceiling smiling.

"Maybe next summer."


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue: **

**Alex & Sam – Buy your side**

(All they couldn't stop me if they try; I'm staying by our side.)

And there was a New Year, and new school year, and summer, and Okinawa, and exams, and Tokio University, and a meeting with Hiruma's father, which really didn't go well mostly because of Hiruma himself, and then, there was a summer after that, when they really did go to Vegas, all the way from Houston in a cabriolet with spending the nights on the backseat, counting stars, and of course Vegas, were he got her inexplicably drunk that they actually got married in the Church of Elvis, which she had problems explaining to her mother upon their return, because she couldn't remember much of that night, but one year and two weeks later they had a son, who actually grew up to become a psychologist and didn't play American Football at all, and married to a doctor like himself, and told his daughter about a really stubborn guy who believed in American football and a girl who once took his side and stayed there ever since, and how they were going to visit them next weekend.

Fin.

P.S.: This IS a FanMix. For more related things (like cover, etc.) go to my web-page. That's in the profile.


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